


Divergence in a Yellow Wood

by die_traumerei



Series: The Triple Point [3]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Ending, Choose Your Own Ending, Death, Death of a loved one, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Fix-It, Mourning, Multi, Not A Fix-It, Remember Your Dead, Sad, Sad with a Happy Ending, Survival
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-25
Updated: 2015-10-25
Packaged: 2018-04-28 04:03:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5077036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/die_traumerei/pseuds/die_traumerei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An alternate ending to Strike Gold Along This Shore. (This story has two endings, choose how sad you want it to be!)</p><p>I'm afraid you probably won't get this without reading Strike Gold first. (And it gives away a huuuuge plot point anyway! Best to not spoil yourself!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, I'm not sure where this came from, but HEED THE WARNINGS. MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH AHEAD.
> 
> I wrote two endings to this story -- one of which fits in with Strike Gold, the other is a true alternate ending to that story. Your choice will be explained at the end of Chapter 1.
> 
> I found this story harder to write than I expected -- perhaps it's just that time of year, to meditate on mortality and what we leave behind.
> 
> It picks up about halfway through Chapter 23, after Bucky passes out.

“I need to talk to her. Please, is there any way I can talk to her?” Steve begged. He had been seen to, but Peggy was still in quarantine, and likely to stay that way. “She's my _wife_ , there must be a way I can talk to her.” He had to tell her. He _had_ to be the one to tell her. No fucking way was some overworked stranger going to tell Peggy.

“I'm sorry sir, but there's no way we can accommodate you. I imagine you understand that there's a national emergency going on.” The nurse looked sympathetic, but exhausted. Everyone looked exhausted.

“I know, I just...please. I need to see her. Just for a few minutes,” Steve pleaded, and oh fuck, he was going to start crying again. Had he ever stopped? “Our lover died. _I need to tell her_.” This last with a rage that surprised him, but didn't. The worst had happened, and he was pissed at the universe.

T he nurse paused, and looked at him,  _really_ looked at him. “Wait here,” she said, and disappeared down a corridor, coming back in a few minutes. 

“You can't be in a room with her, but you can talk to her and see each other,” she said, and he followed her, working to keep up with her pace as she took him down a corridor to a glass-walled room, clearly some kind of conference room originally. “I'll give you as much time as I can,” she said, and disappeared, so as to pretend that he had some kind of privacy.

Peggy was pale but upright, her arm in a sling and her shoulder heavily bandaged – well, he wasn't much better.

“Steve!” She pressed her hand to the pane of glass, and he all laid his hand over hers, pretending he could feel warmth through the glass. “Steve, it's okay. I'm not hurt badly. Probably going to be here for awhile though, they're saying it could be weeks.” She smiled weakly. “Promise me you and Bucky will take care of each other?”

Steve swallowed hard. “Baby...”

“No. Don't you say it,” she said, voice going harsh. “ _No_.”

“Peggy, love. Love.” Steve coughed, fought back tears.

“ _No_.”

“He wasn't in pain. It was so fast, love, but he didn't suffer, not at all. His heart just stopped.” Steve choked on the words. “I was there, he knew I was there, he knew we love him.”

Peggy howled, and sat down as though her legs had given out, and Steve crouched on the other side of the glass, his hand still pressed against where hers was. “It was just too much, they did everything they could...”

“No. No, no no, he's not dead, he's not, he _can't_ be,” Peggy wept. “It's not _fair_.”

“No, it's not,” Steve managed, and found he couldn't stop crying with her. “Peggy, Peggy, love, he was so brave.”

“He was _ours_ , and now he's _gone_ ,” Peggy growled.  


“Yeah.” Steve wiped his eyes, and leaned his forehead against the glass. “I gotta...they're releasing me. I gotta call Becca. Make...arrangements.”

“I have to say goodbye. I have to...they have to let me into the fucking _morgue_ ,” she said, voice on the edge of hysteria. “What the fuck am I gonna do, kill him _again_?”

“I'll talk to someone. You talk to someone. You...I swear you'll say goodbye,” Steve said, and laughed bitterly. “If I have to break you in. He was...he just looked asleep.”

Peggy made a choking sound, and they cried together until far too soon, the nurse returned. Steve had to leave, and Peggy had to go back to the room with everyone else who had been injured by the Chitauri, where no one touched them without a full HAZMAT suit. 

That was entirely okay with Peggy. If anyone touched her, she would bite their hand off.

 

 

It took another day, but clearly someone somewhere had agreed with her that she couldn't do any more harm in the morgue. Besides, she might die too; they didn't know what was in those weapons.

(Peggy was not going to die. Steve would be useless without the  _both_ of them. This was a fact, and the universe could stuff it up its arse.)

They set up a room for her, so she could be alone with him. She put on her prettiest dress – Steve had brought clothes for her – and did her face and hair as best she could. She was quiet and English and obeyed so she could get into the room with him.

He was lying on a table, and she was indignant for a moment that he was just on this cold metal table, before she remembered that it didn't really matter. The Bucky who had loved to curl up in bed, and vocally protested moving from under a pile of quilts on cold winter days was gone. Who cared if he was on an icy steel table, with just a sheet over him?

“Hello darling,” she said, and walked over, because by God, she was going to say goodbye. Bucky deserved a goodbye, not her wailing and losing her mind even though dear God she was losing her mind. “Oh, love.”

He looked wrong, with bloodless lips and skin like marble, but this was what was left of her Bucky. She touched his hair, and that felt different too, even as she tucked a few strands behind his ear. She petted the soft, short hair that she'd cut for him a few days ago. She'd put the razor down and kissed his ear, and he thanked her, eyes all soft and –

Peggy was not going to cry. Not here, not right now.

“I'm so bloody mad at you,” she said, and cupped his face in her good hand. “You fucker. I fell in love with you and then you left.”

They had removed his prosthetic. Well, that made sense, she guessed.

“I love you so much. Dear God, I hope you knew how much. Steve and I both. You were our treasure.” She leaned over and kissed his brow, careful not to leave a lipstick print. “Oh, darling. Please be happy, wherever you are. Wait for us, love.”

Another kiss, then another, the point of each cheekbone. How many hundreds of times had she kissed him like this?

“I'm going to miss you so much,” she said, and gave in and cried. Bucky wouldn't mind. He _never_ minded her crying, it was just a fucking pain in the ass because now he wasn't going to sit up and wrap his arm around her and kiss her head until she was all cried-out, he was _never_ going to do that again and fuck the whole wide world.

She kissed him, one last time on the lips and it didn't feel like a kiss. It felt like she'd been cheated, because she kissed but didn't get kissed back, and then she left before she flew apart. At least in her bed she could cry herself sick.

 

 

It was another week before the funeral. Peggy was still in quarantine, but Steve came to visit, still in his black suit.

“It was fucking horrible,” he said flatly. They could talk to each other across a glass barrier, but still weren't allowed contact. They said maybe another fortnight. Maybe more? So many tests to run.

“You're supposed to lie and say it was beautiful and just what he would have wanted,” Peggy said, just as flatly.

“I'm pretty sure he wouldn't have wanted to _die_ ,” Steve said. They weren't fighting, really. Just being sad and angry together. “Therefore it was fucking horrible. Becca was a wreck.”

“You're a wreck,” Peggy pointed out.

“I am a wreck,” Steve agreed, and shuddered. “They played some music he liked. His mom cried. His coffin was...light,” he said, voice breaking to sound distant. “Peg, it wasn't heavy at all. He weighed a fucking ton when he was alive, I can tell you that.”

Peggy laughed, and didn't particularly care when it turned into tears. “I am so glad I wasn't there. I wish I'd been there.”

“Me too,” Steve said. “God, it was fucking awful.” He laughed, and it hurt. “It's done, though. He's in the ground now.”

Peggy shuddered. “Stop. No.”

“Five minutes!” a warning call went out. There were others who wanted to use this room.

“For fuck's sake!” Steve yelled back. “I just got back from a goddamn funeral!”

“Sir, you'll have to leave now.”

“Fuck off.” Steve turned to Peggy and touched the glass, and she touched the same place. “I love you. I love you.”

“I love you too, Steve.” Peggy watched as her husband was led away by a security guard, trying not to feel proud, then giving in. Steve was arguing the whole way.

 

 

It was five weeks after The Battle of New York that she was allowed to go home. Her shoulder was mostly healed, though Steve still had nearly a month left with his arm in a cast. She supposed it was good at least one of them was fighting fit. So to speak.

It went without saying, that they went to the cemetery first. The taxi driver didn't even say anything. Peggy reckoned he'd probably been doing this a lot by now.

Steve put his good arm around her and they walked the quiet roads to a green, peaceful corner. It was a stunning summer day.

She could have spotted his grave from half a mile away. The headstone was brand-new; it must have been put in only a day or so ago. That was how late she was to coming to pay her respects. The earth hadn't quite settled, but there was a fresh bunch of flowers atop it – Steve, she guessed, or Becca. She hadn't thought to bring anything. Well, Bucky would understand.

“Hi, baby,” she said, when they were standing in front of it, and she started to cry, great wracking sobs, because it still hurt, it still hurt _so much_ , and she knelt by the cold stone and cried.

 

 

For a very bittersweet ending, go to Chapter 2.

For a happy (well, happier?) ending, go to Chapter 3.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Bittersweet Ending

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hamilton fans may recognize a line early on in the chapter. IF I HAD TO CRY, YOU HAVE TO CRY is all I'm saying.

“We're moving,” she said, in the taxi back to their apartment.

“I already started packing,” Steve admitted. “Not back to the shop, though.”

“God, no,” she said and shuddered. Bucky would be everywhere there. Every time she opened the back door, she'd remember them flying up the steps at Christmas straight into her arms. They wouldn't be able to cook a meal, either of them, without remembering Bucky coming over late in the evening, worn out after PT, to eat leftovers and tease them both even as he was half-asleep already.

New place. He'd still be a ghost there, but not so obviously.

 

They wound up leaving Brooklyn. Queens was cheaper, anyway, and they could be close to Becca there. They found a tiny, sunny top-floor apartment that was the exact opposite of the dark, poky place they'd turned into the center of their lives.

They packed their things quickly. Bucky's things were distributed among his friends and family; they kept photos, and Steve held onto a few books he had loved. Peggy kept their makeup, and a pretty little box. She had found three silver rings in it, two of them sized to fit her and Steve, and had just about made it to the bathroom before she threw up.

She wore the ring sized for Bucky's finger around her neck on a strong silver chain, and never took it off.

Unpacking was easy, the tiny space filling up, and together they made their bed. They had kept Bucky's quilt (“We've had sex on this too many times to give it away,” Steve had pointed out, and Peggy had to agree.), but it was packed away. They'd bring it out eventually.

“Well,” Peggy said, and sat on the edge of the bed.

“So,” Steve said, and sat at her feet, leaning his head on her leg. “Hey.”

“Hullo you,” she said softly, and ran her fingers through his hair. Her beloved. Steve had not been a rock. Steve had mourned too, thank God. They could be sad and angry and cry together. She would have shattered a rock.

Steve smiled up at her, and kissed her thigh. “It's quiet uptown,” he said.

“It's nice,” she agreed, and jumped when a mighty wind blew hard through the open window, setting the curtains billowing.

“That's annoying,” Steve said, and the curtain snapped. They looked at each other, stunned.

“No way,” Steve said. “No fucking way. Ghosts aren't real.”

The other curtain snapped.

“Bucky, I _just got those up_ ,” was all Peggy could think to say.

The wind changed to a gentle breeze, brushing against her face, and she closed her eyes.

“Oh, darling,” she said, and Steve's hand tightened around hers. “We love you too.”

“We love you,” Steve repeated, his voice thick. “Bucky, don't wait for us. We'll find you when the time comes.”

The warm summer breeze swirled through the bedroom again,  gave the curtains one last playful jostle, and died away.

* * *

Peggy applied the lipstick carefully. It had been one of Bucky's, and so was brought out only for special occasions.

“Hi, beautiful,” Steve said, and leaned over to kiss her cheek. “Taxi's nearly here.”

“You are the only person in the universe who doesn't just call an Uber,” Peggy sighed.

“You know my reasons,” Steve said primly, and Peggy rolled her eyes and, in revenge, took her damn time with the mascara.

* * *

“We're invited to to some Battle of New York one-year remembrance thing,” Peggy said, flipping through their mail. “It says it's so we never forget our dead.”

“Put it in the bathroom so I can wipe my ass with it,” Steve requested.

“Yes, dear,” Peggy said. In the end, they wound up tearing the flier in half so they could both make use of it.

* * *

“Oh my _God_ ,” Peggy moaned, and tried not to squeeze her thighs too much. Steve was...holy _shit_.

The orgasm ripped through her, leaving her gasping, her breath only gradually slowing. 

“Oh, my darling,” she sighed, and pulled Steve up for a very well-deserved, very filthy kiss. “That was exquisite. Where the hell did you learn...?”

“Bucky,” he said smugly, and she laughed, and kissed him again.

* * *

“Happy birthday, baby,” she said, and knelt on the frozen ground, placing the bouquet carefully. “I hope you like roses.”

“They're dirt cheap after Valentine's Day,” Steve added helpfully, and that was how she and Steve wound up rolling around on the ground on top of Bucky's grave, having a pinch fight.

“I dedicate my win to the birthday boy,” Steve said smugly, and leaned over to run his fingers over Bucky's name. “James Buchanan Barnes. I love you, and I will love you until I die. And beyond.”

“We miss you, Bucky,” Peggy added, tracing the letters with a single scarlet fingertip. “Almost three years.”

“I forget sometimes, that we didn't know you for all that long,” Steve mused. “You're still in our lives every day.”

“Rest well,” Peggy said softly, and leaned into Steve's arms. “Wherever you are, be happy, Bucky.”

* * *

“Mummy! Tell me about Bucky again!”

Peggy set her book aside, and patted the sofa beside her. “Okay. What story do you want to hear?”

“How you met him!” Sarah Barnes Rogers scrambled up beside her mother and snuggled close. She had brought a framed sketch of Bucky her father had done. It was the day he'd fallen asleep on the grass, so early in their friendship.

Peggy laughed, and took the picture, running her fingertips across the glass. “Oh, that's a really good story. It was...wow. Eleven years ago now.”

“That's _so many years_!”

“Uh huh.” Sarah had recently turned five. “Well, Mummy was at the park, and she was walking by the fountain when a very _very_ silly man was walking on the _edge_ of the fountain.”

“I'm not allowed to walk there unless Daddy is holding my hands,” Sarah interrupted. “He was _very_ silly.”

“He was,” Peggy agreed. “Especially because he slipped and fell and landed on Mummy.”

Sarah shook her head, clearly disapproving of these acrobatics.

“When he got up, Mummy could see that he was hurt, so she took him home to get cleaned up by her and Daddy,” she continued. “She also couldn't help but noticed that he was _very_ charming, and _very_ handsome.”

“And then?” Sarah asked, wriggling a little with excitement.

“And then Bucky became friends with Mummy and Daddy.”

“And _then_?” Sarah asked.

“And _then_ we became very special friends, and he was our boyfriend.”

“And then you fell in love!” Sarah shrieked, and fell over giggling. Bucky was about a gazillion times better than any prince out of any fairytale.

“We did!” Peggy laughed, and hugged Sarah tightly. “We loved him so much, and he loved Mummy and Daddy.”

“An' I love him, even though he died 'fore I was even a twinkle in Daddy's eye,” Sarah finished.

“Good grief, who taught you that thing about the twinkle?” Peggy asked, a little bemused.

“Auntie Becca.”

“Well, she would know.” Peggy kissed the top of her daughter's head. “How about we go put Bucky's drawing back, and I get us some juice?”

“Yeah!” Sarah jumped down and took the framed drawing with great care, marching over to put it back in pride of place on the bookshelf. She adjusted it carefully until it met her approval, and then headed into the kitchen for a well-deserved juice break.

“Love you,” Peggy whispered, touching the edge of the frame, then went to go corral her daughter.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The happier ending. Broadly.

“Shh, Peggy. Shh, it's okay.” Steve's arm had come around her, strong and warm and she howled because it was _not_ okay. 

“Wake up, love. Wake up, you're safe.”

Peggy choked and opened her eyes, and she was in bed, in Steve's arms, sunlight streaming in and –

“Bucky!” She _launched_ herself at him, forgetting to be careful of her shoulder and his leg and who cared because he was right there, he was alive, he looked worried, oh, he was worried about _her_ but he was okay.

“Shh, darling,” he soothed. “Peggy, love, love, you're going to make yourself sick. Hush now. Shh.” He held her tightly, with two arms – oh, he must have woken up early. “There, love. There. You're safe.”

“I know,” she managed, and coughed, and swiped at her eyes. “You were dead, Bucky, you'd died in the attack, you were _gone_.”

“Oh, God, honey,” he murmured, still holding her, not caring that she was sprawled across his lap, a total mess. “My poor Peg. It's just a dream. I'm fine. It was just a dream.”

“Felt real,” she rasped out, burying her face in his shoulder. “I wasn't allowed out of quarantine for _weeks_ , there was a funeral, I couldn't...your grave...I said goodbye I _kissed_ you but you didn't kiss back and you were gone you _died_ and I can't....”

“Stop it,” Bucky said firmly, his voice suddenly sharp. “ _Stop_. Peggy, you're making yourself ill. It was a dream, love. I'm right here, we're all safe.” He petted her hair, belying the harsh words that finally brought her back to herself. “Kiss me, and I damn well promise you I'll kiss back.”

She took him at his word, and his mouth was warm and soft under hers, and he kissed back until her breathing evened out and she could relax. She stayed in his arms though.

“'m sorry,” she mumbled, and Bucky stroked her hair.

“It's okay. You held out the longest of all of us for a screaming nightmare, you know?” he said, and she shrugged. “Peggy, it's okay,” he repeated, and kissed the top of her head. “My poor girl.”

Steve came back into the bedroom – she hadn't even noticed that he'd  _left_ – with a glass of water and a steaming mug. “Water first,” he said, and leaned over to kiss her cheek. “Then you get coffee.”

She giggled a little, brokenly, and downed the glass of water, surprised at how much it soothed her throat. “Was I screaming?” she asked.

“No. Crying pretty hard, though,” Steve admitted, and stroked her back. “Can I get in on the love fest?”

Bucky laughed and moved over, and all three of them piled together. It was kind of awkward – Bucky not-very-subtly moved her off of his still-healing leg, and Steve was mildly uncomfortable to lean against – but they were all three together, and she gave in and let them pet her until the dream was distant.

 

Mostly distant. She found herself wandering through their apartment that afternoon, aimless until she found Bucky reading on the sofa. “Hey,” she said, and he lowered his book and grinned up at her.

“Hi, beautiful. What's up?”

“Can I join you?” she asked, feeling oddly shy. “Keep reading, I just need to. To be. Near you.” God, why was it so hard to get words out?

“Since when did you have to ask?” Bucky chided, putting his book aside and holding his arms out. It took a little doing for them to both get comfortable, but she was between his legs soon enough, head pillowed on his chest.

“Better?” he asked and she nodded.

“Can I tell you something incredibly dumb?” she asked, and he tipped her chin up to meet his eyes.

“I doubt it'll be dumb, but yes, love. What is it?”

“I don't think I had a nightmare,” she blurted out. “I think I saw another timeline. Another universe.” Another way the story could have ended. In this one, they would have come home and found the rings among Bucky's belongings. And she would probably have drunk herself blind.

Bucky was quiet for a moment, stroking her back. “Maybe you did,” he finally said. “It sounds like it went on for weeks. And darling, I've never seen you so disturbed. Not even when being attacked by _actual aliens_ ,” he pointed out, poking her in the side.

Peggy smiled. “They were easy. Losing you...”

“Which you didn't do,” he pointed out quickly. “I'm right here. You're in the universe where I lived.”

“I know,” she sighed, and turned her head to kiss his chest. “Thank fuck. I feel bad for that other Peggy, though.”

“How d'you think I feel?” Bucky asked dryly, and she couldn't help but laugh, and it was her turn to poke him in the side.

“Oh, shut the fuck up,” she advised, and pushed up to kiss him.

“Margaret Carter, I love you,” Bucky said firmly. “In every universe.”

“God, you're gross,” she said, and touched their foreheads together. “In every universe.” 

The 'I love you' didn't need to be said.


End file.
